Flamemaker
by TheShakespeareCode
Summary: Fifteen years after Daenerys Targaryen took the Seven Kingdoms, Johanna Lannister escapes her parents' exile on Tarth to take back the Iron Throne...Sequel to "It'll Always Be Yours", though can be read independently. Updates daily. Gore, language, sex. Enjoy! xxx
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Thank you for clicking! This story is a sequel to my story "It'll Always Be Yours", however it can be read independently-everything relevant that happened in the prequel will be explained in the next few chapters, which will be updated regularly-I usually update every day :)**

 **Anyway, please feel free to enjoy and leave any thoughts you have! Much love, hope you're all well xxx**

* * *

Jaime Lannister was jerked awake by a cry-a cry of anguish. Even without looking at the empty pillow beside him-he knew that voice, which came from somewhere down the corridor, could belong to no one else.

The last fog of sleep leaving him, Jaime swung his legs to the floor, slipping his bare feet into his boots. He grimaced slightly, for his back was never good for the hour after he rose, and had not been for the last few years. However, he was fit enough to sprint across the chamber to grab his sword, before yanking the door open and rushing down the corridor towards the sound of his wife's voice. Evenfall Hall was deserted at this time of night-there was nothing to be heard but the sea breeze outside the windows, gently swaying the red and blue tapestries bearing the Tarth sigil on the walls. But he barely noted them as he ran.

"What's going on?" Jaime whipped around the corner-before skidding to a halt in horror. Before him-he could see an open door, leading into a dark chamber. Before Brienne even spoke, he knew what had happened. It was instinctive-as a father, he knew in his very bones that something wasn't right, that something was dreadfully wrong. Instantly-his heart had turned to ice.

" _She's gone_!" The voice came from inside, hoarse with anger and shaking with pure fear. " _Jaime, she's_ _gone_!"

* * *

"Seven hells!"

Johanna Lannister cursed as her hands were burned. The rope slipped through them and straight onto the wooden floor of the sailboat with a soft _thump_ -but she had completed her task. Her sails stood true, bending shyly away from the wind as it guided her across the smooth waters, the sapphire colour-the precise shade of her eyes-drained away by the darkness of night. Uncommonly tall, her muscles sleek and her limbs strong, yet still with the adolescent look of a foal who was not quite grown into herself, she sailed. Now, they were like a navy quilt beneath her, bearing her away from the isle of Tarth, the mountains and trees growing quickly smaller behind her. She turned her back on the isle of home, gritting her teeth. There were red burn marks on the palms of her hands and the bends of her fingers. Firmly, folding her long legs beneath her, she sat down at the tiller, one hand carefully steering, the other gripping the wood of the side of the boat. She had never sailed alone before. And especially not across the sea.

She tossed her long, hay-coloured plait over her shoulder as she looked at the small bag at her red-booted feet. Inside, there was nothing but a flask of water, a purse of gold and a stolen map of the land beyond Shipbreaker Bay, of the Seven Kingdoms, the land of her birth. She could see the colours of the kingdoms of Westeros on the faded parchment. The vast north, bigger than all the other kingdoms combined, cut off at the Wall of ice, the winding Riverlands, the mountainous Vale, the sprawling Reach, the Iron Islands to the West, and golden Dorne in the South…They were all just names to her…until now. Then there were the Westerlands…in tiny black writing, she could see Lannisport marked, and above it, Casterly Rock. Her father's family seat. Biting her lip, she touched the golden Lannister hair she had inherited. She felt a pang as she thought of him, of the last time she had seen him, as she had slammed her chamber door in his face. Her gut twisted with guilt.

But she could not think of him now. She looked up at the stars as she steered, wondering if they would look any different from the mainland. On the map, she could just make out Tarth, marked in blue, the very blue of her tunic and leggings. She looked across the water she now crossed in reality to the Stormlands. There they were, huge, new and exciting, and almost in her reach…but her eyes slipped back to Tarth, the land she so firmly turned her back on. In tiny black letters, Evenfall Hall was marked, where her grandfather still sat in his age as lord. She thanked every god there was that he had done what he did, said what he said. But still. She thought of him, of his horror even in his senility when he discovered what she had done…but that was nothing compared to her mother's.

Johanna gritted her teeth. Though she _resented_ her, though her forehead was still stiff with rage…guilt twisted inside her like a dagger. She looked determinedly away from Tarth, dragging her thoughts away from her mother…to the last kingdom marked on the mainland. Crownlands. The capital was marked in those little black letters, a large black spot showing its exact location.

 _Kings Landing_. Kings Landing, where she had been born on the day that the _Usurper_ Daenerys Targaryen had taken the throne from her father's sister. _Usurper_ was a new word to her. She liked the way it tasted on her tongue. _Kings Landing_ , where the _Usurper_ sat on the Iron Throne- _her_ Iron Throne. The throne she had been denied. She had thought of nothing else since she had discovered the truth.

Johanna looked down to her belt. There hung her sword, her own sword in scabbard. She had never named it-it had never seemed grand enough to warrant a name. As a child, she had gazed at Oathkeeper in all its wonder, the lion's head of its hilt, the gold, the beauty of it…But this was _her_ sword. The sword with which she would discover the Seven Kingdoms. And one day, one day not so far in the future…she would use it to take them back.

A sword like that needed a name.

Johanna thought for a moment. She wished she had not brought Oathkeeper to mind, for again it only served to remind her of her mother, of the last time she had seen her...Dismissing the greatsword, she looked back down at her own. It was simple-but it was good. It was steel. It was strong. And one day, it would win her back her kingdom. She leaned back, her hand on the tiller, looking up at the stars who held their fire. She had always _loved_ fire, the way it danced in the fireplaces, the way it burned in the sun, the sun of the Tarth sigil, hot like the scarlet of the Lannister banners, the banners which were _hers_ , that had been Queen Cersei's, the banners which she would hang once more in the Red Keep…and dragon fire. Dragon fire was the greatest of all.

Despite everything, despite the guilt and fear that flickered in her stomach…as she sailed over the calm waters in the small hours of the night, closer and closer to the land of her birth, of her birth- _right_ -the cool wind blew through her hair, and she was alone. Part of her felt as if she had been thrown, thrown down a deep and endless pit of mystery, and she could barely orientate herself to stand up straight. But this was it. She was alone. Alone, and completely, undeniably, _free_.

 _Flamemaker_.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned for more tomorrow xx**

 **Cheeky hint #1: Jaime will not be easily persuaded to stay behind...**

 **Cheeky hint #2: Johanna meets some familiar faces on the mainland...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! More soon! Much love, hope you enjoy xxx**

"…should have had her door guarded-"

" _Guarded?_ That's ridiculous. And we couldn't possibly have known she-"

"-probably halfway across the _sea_ by now- _how_ could she be _so_ - _anything_ could have-"

"I know." said Jaime quietly from behind her. Brienne breathed hard as she put her armour on as fast as she could, talking more to herself than her husband-but the dread in his voice only served to double the mounting terror in her heart. Every second, she thought of something else that could have happened to her daughter. And each thought was more unbearable than the next. She found that her hands were shaking as she tightened the straps.

"Shipbreaker Bay…" she murmured. "You know why they call it _Shipbreaker Bay_ -"

" _Don't_ say that!" Jaime snapped. "For the sake of the gods, don't you think it hasn't already crossed my mind?" She heard him sigh. "Gods, this is my fault isn't it?"

"No…" Brienne felt sick. "No. It was mine."

There were a few moments of silence as both recalled the events of the previous evening.

"Well." Brienne gritted her teeth as she slipped Oathkeeper into the scabbard at her side. "She won't get far."

"Hang on!" There was a vague sound of steel clashing against steel behind her. "You know armour is a bastard with one hand."

"What are you doing?" She turned to him-then her stomach dropped. " _No_."

"Oh, Brienne, of course I'm coming with you." Jaime rolled his eyes as he fumbled with his own straps.

"No you are not! Has it slipped your mind that you are banished? That the queen will have your head if you ever set foot on Westeros again?" Brienne marched up to him, stopping his hand with hers. "There is no way you are coming."

"Brienne." Jaime looked up at her, his eyes desperate. "You can't possibly imagine that I am going to sit here and do nothing while you look for our daughter?"

"Yes, I can. And that is what you are going to do." she said, firmly. "Besides, you must stay with my father-he is too old to cope on his own, you know that. And _you_ are too old to be travelling like we used to. I cannot be worrying about you as well."

She could see that she had offended him, but could not bring herself to care. Nonetheless, he continued to argue. "Brienne, I will not sit here in idleness while my daughter is in danger! Don't you remember everything we did to protect her?" He took her hand, holding on much too tightly, his eyes unnaturally bright. "Don't you remember the oath I swore to you at Winterfell, before she was born? Men _fought_ and _died_ for us- _we_ fought, killed and damn near died-don't you remember Ser Davos, Stefen, Podrick Payne-"

"Of _course_ I remember…" Brienne felt a pang of grief for every man, and especially for Pod, whom she often thought of, whose last moments haunted her…but she knew she had to put her foot down. She looked straight into her husband's eyes. "Jaime, I swear to you by the old gods and the new that I will bring our daughter back-"

"Oh gods, woman, why not kneel and swear me your sword?" Jaime sounded strangled. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, getting gradually more desperate. "I will _not_ -"

"You _must_!" Brienne raised her voice to something far less formal. "There is no way that I am taking you with me! Jaime, I will not see your head on the battlements of the Red Keep! Think of your brother-wait. _Tyrion_." Brienne stopped dead, another thought seizing her. "Jaime, write to your brother."

"To Tyrion?" Jaime paused, distracted.

"Yes. Tell him that his niece is on the mainland, and that he needs to send whomever he can spare to find her." Brienne checked her sword a final time, before looking back at her husband, who was looking almost defeated. Now-his expression was pure fear-the fear they both shared for their escaped daughter. She could hardly bear to look at him-but she forced herself to meet his eyes. "Write to him immediately. Take care of my father. I'll bring Johanna home, I swear I-"

Suddenly-Jaime threw his arms around her. He held on fast, burying his face in her shoulder. Despite her panic-she could not help but hold on for a second. She drank in his warm, familiar smell, the softness of his greying golden hair…it had been sixteen years, _sixteen_ whole years… "Please be careful. You know that I couldn't stand to lose either of you. I love you…"

"As I love you." The answer was almost automatic these days. But she meant it no less. More, as the awfulness of the situation washed over her. "I'll bring her home." she whispered into his hair. "I swear it."

…

Brienne gripped the tiller of the boat with both hands, never taking her eyes off the sails. Johanna had managed to steal the better model-though that was a good thing. Maybe she'd made it over Shipbreaker Bay more easily with a reliable boat…

Her head snapped up to the sky as she forced herself not to cry. Johanna… _stupid girl_. She clenched her hands harder. How could she do this? She had no idea, none at all…the things she could learn on Westeros, about Jaime, about everything that had been done to save her…anything could happen to her now. Even once she crossed the sea-Brienne knew her daughter was hot-headed, naïve-she had never known anywhere but Tarth, Tarth which she had made so safe, where she had no one but those who would love and protect her, where she had never left Evenfall Hall alone…they had done everything. _Everything_.

Brienne pressed her lips together. As much as she hated to believe it…a child like Johanna would want nothing more than to escape. Her heart ached as she thought of her, the way the daughter she loved beyond anything she'd thought possible could glare at her in such a way, could break her heart with just a few words...She and Jaime had done everything they could to protect their baby, ever since the moment she existed. The thought that she may be hurt, that someone could hurt her, that she was alone in a world she knew almost nothing of...it was more than she could bear to think about...All she could do was travel as fast as she could.

Carefully, Brienne stood up to check the ropes, passing by the empty crates she had in her hurry not bothered to discard. After further securing the knots, she considered it foolish-they were just dead weight. Bending down, she picked the first up and threw it over the side of the ship. Then the next. They disappeared under the water, before floating away. Finally, she turned to the third and largest. She bent down to pick it up…but found that she could not lift it. Frowning, she tried again, confused. What could _possibly_ -?

"Don't, love, you'll hurt your back."

Instantly-Brienne was furious. _Of course_. She ought to have known. Sighing in disgust, she threw open the lid of the crate. "For the sake of the gods, are you a _child_?" she shouted, her voice echoing into the night. "How _dare_ you! Are you _trying_ to get yourself _killed_?"

"We have been married for sixteen years," Jaime said, standing upright, leaning on the side of the crate. He looked at her, his eyes filled with determination. "You must know me by now. When I swore myself to you, I meant every word. I don't give a damn what the rest of the world thinks of me, but I will _not_ be Oathbreaker in your eyes." He reached out, and took her hand firmly in his. "We are doing this _together_."

* * *

Johanna slung her bag firmly over her shoulder as she marched through the cobbled street. She was soaked through and freezing. The harsh sea breeze blew her hair so hard that she had to bow her head as she struggled through this town, only miles from the coast. Likewise staggered every man she passed on the streets, illuminated only by catches of fire, caged on posts along the street. She had no idea how they remained ignited. The Stormlands were, it seemed, aptly named.

The excitement of reaching the mainland had worn thin quickly as she had realised that the beaches were guarded by huge rocks, some almost completely hidden beneath the waves, foolish for anyone but the most experienced sailors to navigate. And so, with her bag in her mouth and her sword clutched under her arm, she had abandoned the boat and swam the final mile to shore. She had always been a strong swimmer-her father had taught her well at home-but the rough sea made it almost impossible to see. She had prayed to every god she knew as the harsh, salt-water had slapped her face and numbed her hands.

But she had made it. This was _Westeros._

There was short-lived jubilation as she had collapsed onto the cold, stony shore, and adrenaline had powered her through fields and over hills, until she had seen the lights of this small town. There, she had decided to find a bed for a few hours, to hide and to sleep, before she set off for Kings Landing in the morning. She could see on her map-the Crownlands were beside the Stormlands. It could not take more than a day to reach the capital, could it? One could cross the whole length of Tarth in a day if one did not stop, _surely_ it could not take much longer than that?

But now, every step was heavy. She was freezing cold to her bones. She looked up at the houses and shops that lined the streets looking for a tavern. Finally-she spotted one. It was small, the stone bricks dirty and the windows boarded up-but she could not afford to be selective. She knew that she had to get in front of a fire soon or she would catch her death. There were merry noises coming from the inside, men singing and laughing. This reassured her-laughter meant good people, did it not?

With numb hands, scarlet from the cold, she pushed the door open.

 _"She sighed and squealed and kicked the air!_

 _Then she sang: My bear! My bear so fair!_

 _And off they went into the summer air!_

 _The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair!"_

Instantly-she was almost pushed back into the wind as a large man collided with her, knocking her sideways. He was not as tall as her, but perhaps twice as heavy. When he turned to her, his face was red from drink and very merry. "Oop!" he hiccoughed. Then, as he took in her appearance-he leered at her, his eyes becoming bright and hungry. "Nice legs there, love. Ain't you gonna to show me what's between 'em?"

Johanna was so shocked she was almost rooted the spot. She had never heard anyone speak like this before-never in her life. It was _horrible_ -she wanted to disappear there and then. Quickly, she recovered her senses, a hand on the hilt of her sword. Behind the man, beyond the other singing and drinking men-she could see a roaring fireplace. It called to her freezing, weary bones. "Move aside, sir." she said, her voice polite, and yet as forceful as she could.

The man laughed. "Ain't you a feisty one? Like that in a woman…" Suddenly-he lunged forward. Johanna almost screamed, but she managed to dodge him in his drunkenness, darting forward amid the tables of the tavern. Still, her hand clenched her sword tightly. As quickly as she could, she dashed toward the fireplace, practically collapsing in front of it. Finally, she could feel the warmth of the orange flames on her wet clothes and hair…she prayed that the man would not approach her again.

 _"From there to here. From here! To there!_

 _All black and brown and covered in hair!_

 _He smelled that girl on the summer air!_

 _The bear! The bear and the maiden fair!"_

"And here she is!"

Johanna's head snapped back up, clutching the hilt of her sword tighter. On a chair close to her, a man sat, his dark hair to his bearded chin. He clutched a pint of ale in one hand, though he had been neglecting it as he sung louder than any other man. Johanna eyed him suspiciously, wondering whether to get up and run again. She did not like the way that the man, and the large group of men he sat with, was looking at her.

The man smiled with surprisingly white teeth. "Someone try to drown you, then?" he asked, his eyes glinting. He had a nice smile, if heavily lined, his dark hair woven with grey. He was older than her father, but not as old as her grandfather. "Or perhaps you're a mermaid, come from the sea? Hey, gorgeous?"

Johanna did not know what to say. So she said nothing.

"Don't say much, do you?" the man teased. He leaned forward, his voice becoming softer. "Why don't you open that pretty mouth and sing for us, hey? Mermaids have beautiful voices, everyone knows that. Lure sailors to their deaths…"

"Oh, just cut to the fucking chase and give her a kiss!" one of the other man called, to much laugher from the crowd of men. Johanna could feel her cheeks burning. "Go on, Bronn! Girl like that-someone else'll have her before the night's out."

Johanna felt like drawing her sword and running through every one of their horrible, leering faces.

But the man named Bronn was looking at her strangely now.

"You look...familiar…" he said, folding his arms. "Have I fucked you before?"

" _You certainly have not_!" Johanna snapped, furious-before realising that she had spoken.

Suddenly-the man named Bronn's eyes widened. His mouth fell open in amazement. " _No…No way_ …"

"Listen to that!" cried one of the other men, chuckling. "Talks like she's highborn, don't she? Wouldn't mind listening to _that_ of an evening, hey? Better than any whore's mewling…"

But the man named Bronn had got to his feet. He took several steps closer to Johanna. Instantly, she shot to her feet, clutching the hilt of Flamemaker warningly. "Not another step!" she shouted to him, braver than she felt, glaring at him. "One more and I'll cut you down!"

To her astonishment-the man began to laugh. " _Fucking hell_ , of course it is! Gods, you're the image of your mum when you make that face!" He shook his head, a hand running through his hair. "Kids grow fast, don't they! Can't believe it's little Johanna!"

Johanna felt her heart begin to pound. "How-how do you know me?"

The man laughed harder. "'Course I know you! Golden-headed lion cub-just like your dad, ain't you? And tall as a fucking house-surprised I didn't see it straight away!" He offered her his hand, looking expectantly up at her. "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater." he introduced himself proudly. "Or Uncle Bronn, I suppose." he added, looking pleased with himself. "Well, it's good to see you, lass. Ain't you grown?"

"Time for titles now, is it?" called one of the other men, gulping a mouthful of ale.

Johanna looked up at this Ser Bronn, frowning slightly. There was such expectance in his eyes, such familiarity-as if she ought to know him. "I…er…who are you?" she asked, stupidly.

Bronn did a double-take. "Of course you know me! Bronn! Come _on_ , your dad must have mentioned me at _least_ once! We travelled together for _years_! Hey, look at this-" Suddenly-he rolled up his tunic to reveal a pale pink scar on his gut, long and thick beneath his navel. "Got this protecting _you_ , I did! Fighting for you and your mum up at Winterfell-hurt like a bitch. Nearly killed me, it did. Worth it though, eh?" He looked up at her, expectant again…but his face fell when he saw nothing but confusion in her eyes. "Eh?...You've...never heard of me?"

Johanna was beginning to feel less scared of him. She looked back at his scar before he covered it again. "What do you mean, you got that for me? And you knew my _parents_?"

"Of course I knew them!" Suddenly, a flash of darkness passed Bronn's eyes. He grimaced. "Sorry. I was just imagining what your mother would do to me if I'd shagged you by accident…" His face contorted as if in pain.

Johanna was not swayed. Questions were swimming through her mind like nothing she'd ever known. "How did you know them? What is _Winterfell_? And what do you mean you _fought_ for me?"

Slowly, Bronn put down his mug of ale. He looked hard at her. The last of his drunkenness seemed to leave him as his voice lowered. "Who are you travelling with?"

Johanna drew herself up to full height. "No one," she said impressively. "I'm travelling alone, on my way to-"

But Bronn stopped her with a wave of his hand. He looked up at her in shock. "Gods, I knew Jaime was as dumb as they came, and Brienne was never too bright, but _this_ is something else…" He looked around, as if checking the room for danger. Then-he lowered his voice even more. "You've…you've fucking run away, haven't you?"

"I haven't _run away_." Johanna scoffed. "I am not a _child_ -"

"Oh, shit…" Bronn shook his head. He looked back at his friends, who had gone back to drinking…before he rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Look, get your bag off the floor. Gods, I'm sicking of fucking Lannister drama queens..." He stretched, his neck clicking from side to side. "I suppose I've got to bloody take you home now, haven't I? Fucking typical-this was my night off! The wife was out of town and everything-of course something like this was going to happen…"

"NO!" Johanna stood her ground firmly, her hand still grasping Flamemaker. "I will _not_!" It came out more childish than she had hoped-but still, she stood strong.

Bronn sucked his teeth impatiently-but his eyes were wide. "You have to come home right now. If I know your dad, he'll be on his way to the mainland looking for you right this minute-and _then_ he'll lose his head to match that fucking hand of his-"

"What?" Johanna blinked in shock, feeling as if hands had just clasped themselves around her throat. "What do you mean, _lose his head_? Why would my father lose his head?" A slight flicker of fear awakened in her stomach.

Bronn look up at her. He stared for a few moments…then took a deep breath. "You really don't know nothing, do you?"

"I do!" Johanna insisted, drawing herself up. "I know that _I_ was supposed to be q-!"

Slowly, Bronn let his breath out. "I really shouldn't…" he reasoned aloud…then-he seemed to give up. "Sit down. I'll get us some wine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following and reviewing! I really do appreciate everything :D A thousand apologies for the delay-my life suddenly became very, very hectic! But I'm back now, and there will be more on Wednesday as usual. Thank you! I hope you enjoy! Much love xxx**

* * *

"You are going to have to talk to me sometime, you know?" Jaime folded his arms across his chest as he sat on the floor of the sailboat. It was too dark to see anything of Brienne's face, for it was cast in shadow, but he did not need to look up to know she would be staring determinedly straight ahead, her face a grimace of rage. "There is no point keeping this up. It will only make things more difficult once we get to the mainland."

Still, Brienne said nothing. She sat upright at the tiller, her back perfectly straight like a soldier, her head held high and those sapphire blue eyes determinedly avoiding Jaime's. It was clear that she had not forgiven him and did not plan to any time in the near future. Jaime rolled his eyes-his wife would be stubborn as a mule until the day she died.

"What can I do?" he wondered aloud, looking up at the dark sky, strewn with stars. He made his voice loud and deliberate. "What can I do? _Apologise_ for caring about our daughter? For wanting to see her home safe and sound as soon as possible? For wanting to shield your back? All I would have done is sat at home and worried about you both." He chanced a glance at Brienne, who ignored him still. He tried a different tactic. "I could hardly have let you go alone. _Anything_ could happen to you-neither of us have been on the road for nearly sixteen years. You might not be as quick as you were-"He paused, hoping for a rise. "Not as strong, not as skilled…I need to stay beside you, to protect you, to keep you safe…" He paused again. Still, nothing. Brienne's face was stone.

Jaime sighed loudly. He shivered in the cool night air, racking his brains for something else to say. "Johanna will be _fine_ , I am sure of it. We will find her, and we will bring her home." He did not know whether he was trying to convince Brienne, or himself. But still, there was no reaction. Jaime knew that, like him, Brienne would be thinking only the worst. He forced himself to think positively-it was the only way he kept himself afloat. "She knows how to protect herself." Nothing. "I am sure none of us will be here for more than a week."

"A week is more than enough time for someone to recognise you and send your head to the capital." Brienne's voice was scarcely above a hiss.

Jaime felt short-lived triumph as she spoke. But her words hit him hard. Nonetheless, he sat up straighter. "That's not going to happen."

"How can you possibly know that?" Her voice had become thick.

"Oh, Brienne-" Jaime reached out his hand to her.

"Don't you touch me!" Brienne shouted, jerking away from his reach.

"Oh, come on, this isn't going to help anything." He struggled to keep his voice level. "We can't be at odds with one another, it will only make this more difficult-"

"My daughter is alone in a country she does not know full of people who hate her family name, my husband is breaking the terms of his banishment which could result in his execution, my father is left alone as lord of Tarth when he barely knows which day it is any more, and _you_ think that this could possibly be any more _difficult_?"

Jaime swallowed. "Alright. I'm sorry."

"Don't you mock me-"

"I'm _apologising_." He looked back at Brienne, his heart aching. "I mean it."

But Brienne had already turned away, resuming her stony silence.

* * *

Bronn smiled up at the young woman who poured the wine. She was plain, and blushed almost scarlet from his attention, but gave him a shy look of gratitude, before scurrying away to the next table. Instantly, Bronn took a large swig. "Beer before wine, feeling fine. That's right, isn't it?"

Johanna shrugged. She looked down at the dark red liquid in her own cup, raising it to her lips and taking a tiny sip. Still, she could find nothing desirable about the dusty, rich flavour, but she had a thirst. So she drank deeply.

Bronn watched her, another smile playing around his lips. "Can't get over it. Just like Jaime, you are. I'd know you anywhere, I think. All that Lannister hair…s'pose you look a bit like the old queen Cersei, don't you?" He laughed, a warm, merry sound. "There was a time that would have been a compliment!"

Johanna felt a warm glow inside as she was compared to her aunt, who had been queen. She was not shy of this man any more-she could not believe that someone who had known her father could want to hurt her. But she kept Flamemaker close all the same. Putting her cup down, she fixed him with her hardest look. "What did you mean when you said that I didn't know anything?"

Now, Bronn looked awkward. He stared at her, running a hand through his beard. "I meant that your parents took you away from Westeros for a reason. And that you need to get back to Tarth as soon as possible."

"But what was that reason?" Johanna persisted. She hardly dared ask-but forced herself. "Was it because of the _Usurper_?"

"The what?" Bronn blinked in surprise. "You mean the Queen?"

"Yes. Daenerys of House Targaryen. Who usurped my aunt Queen Cersei." Johanna said, clearly.

Bronn almost choked on his wine, slamming it down on the table so hard that several people looked up. "The _fuck_ are you talking about?" His face was a picture, as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry out in shock.

Johanna bristled. "Why is that so funny?"

Bronn took several moments to reply. " _Gods_ , girl, what history books have you been reading?" he spluttered.

Johanna frowned, confused. "What?" she asked, stupidly.

But Bronn was shaking his head again, a hand tangled in his beard. "You _really_ don't know nothing, do you?" He slouched down to the table-then sat up again. "Look…" He lowered his voice, speaking straight to her. "I shouldn't be the one to tell you this…fuck, your parents really took the whole exile thing wholeheartedly, didn't they? Couldn't have taken you further away from before, could they? No wonder you're…er…alright." He took a deep breath. "The Queen-meaning Daenerys-didn't usurp no one. For the sake of the gods, your father personally saw to it that she won her throne-your uncle is her Hand! The Lannisters have literally no claim on the thing whatsoever-and good job too, or who knows where we'd be."

Johanna stared at him. Slowly, she allowed this information to settle… _no_. That _couldn't_ be right. She felt sick. _No_.

Bronn was still talking. "…don't think even the queen herself wants the job really now, what with everything that's been going on. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? I suppose it was your mum, wasn't it? I remember living with her at Winterfell when she was pregnant-couldn't go near her without her flinching and going for that sword. Then again, I suppose people really were trying to kill you then-"

"There!" Johanna said triumphantly, having found the answer she had been desperately searching for. "I was heir to the throne, so the usur-Queen Daenerys was trying to kill me! _I_ was to be queen after Cersei, so-"

Bronn seemed almost astonished. But still, he shook his head slowly. "No. Oh fuck…look, you were heir to the throne for all of ten minutes-alright, a few months-before you were even born. But in the original plan, the Northern forces were going to use you _against_ Cersei. You were to usurp _her_ , see? Then of course the queen rode in on her dragons and it was all over…It was Cersei's men trying to have you killed."

Johanna felt her stomach drop. "But… _why_?"

"Because you were Jaime's daughter and not…er…" Suddenly, Bronn looked terribly embarrassed. "I _really_ don't think I should go into that business with you."

"What business?" Johanna asked urgently. "Why didn't Cersei want my father to have a child? Surely she needed an heir-I've looked at the tree of House Baratheon-all of her children by Robert Baratheon were dead-Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen." She struggled slightly to remember the names of her cousins…but then she noticed that Bronn was giving her a very strange look. "What?"

" _No_. I'm not going into this with you." he said, firmly brushing whatever it was away. "That's your father's to tell you if he wanted to, and clearly he didn't, so- _anyway_. Look, Jaime was exiled by the queen onto Tarth-the seat of your mother's family. Your uncle Tyrion had to fight not to have him executed there and then. But he did, so that Jaime could live to be your father." He rubbed his forehead hard. "Jaime and Brienne spent almost a year fighting to keep you alive, and off that throne. Putting yourself in danger like this seems like a pretty shitty way to repay them, hey?"

Johanna did not like the way he was speaking to her. She could feel herself becoming hysterical. "My parents have spent almost sixteen years fighting to keep me in the dark, tucked away on Tarth, not knowing _anything_ about _anything!_ I _needed_ to get off that island-it was _suffocating_ me!"

Bronn gave her a very stern look. "This isn't about the throne at all, is it?"

"Of _course_ it is!"

"No. It's not." Bronn downed the last of his wine. "Ah, fuck…Believe it or not, _I_ was young once too. I was rebellious, I wanted to take on the world…and I wanted to get as far away from my mum as I possibly could." He raised an eyebrow. "Running away to the mainland might seem like a great way to prove that you're an adult, that you don't need sheltering, that you're your own person…but frankly, it's done the fucking opposite, hasn't it?" He did not speak unkindly-but still, Johanna felt her cheeks glowing red. "Look, you can't hate your parents for loving you. Fuck, the state of them at Winterfell when you were on your way…they went through _hell_ for you, and for each other. All they wanted was to keep you safe, and they both damn near died making sure of it. Can you blame them for wanting to keep you close?"

Johanna felt herself getting angrier and angrier. She could not explain why-but she leapt to her feet. "I don't need to listen to this!" She turned on her heels and ran towards the door of the tavern.

"Oh, fuck no..." Bronn groaned, before getting to his feet and pursuing her, through the door and out into the cold. "Johanna! You get back here now! Fuck's sake, girl, how stupid are you? Oh, your mother is going to kill me..."

Johanna ignored him, sprinting off into the street. The freezing wind blew once more through her hair as she darted past men, who hurried along, their collars turned up against the wind. She did not know where she was going, or what she was going to do next-all she could think of were Bronn's words, ringing in her mind like bells tolling... _Cersei_ …Cersei, whom she had idolised, whom she had thought to claim her throne through, whom-

Suddenly-her path was blocked.

Johanna looked up, the wind tickling the back of her neck, the hairs standing on end.

Stood before her was…the most enormous man that she had ever seen. He was taller even than her mother, a vast man dressed in layer upon layer of brown, with a huge black cloak over his shoulders. As she looked up into his face…she flinched. Half the skin seemed to have been charred-burned away, leaving whirls of strange, discoloured skin and blisters. His lank hair stuck to it in the wind as he stared down at her…his mouth turned down in disgust.

"Move." he said, simply. His voice seemed to rumble.

Johanna did not need telling twice. She went to dart out of his way-

"Johanna! Oh, thank fuck…oh." Bronn skidded up behind her, panting…before he stopped dead. He looked up at the enormous man…and gave a kind of strangled laugh. "Fucking hell! It's never the fucking Hound! What is this, the worst reunion of all time?"

The man called the Hound seemed to flinch at his name. He looked down at Bronn, his eyebrows knitting together. "I know you." he said, slowly. "You were at the Blackwater."

"Yes, you do." Bronn made a small bow to him. "Gods, thought you must be dead by now. Then again-s'pose you're hard to kill, aren't you?"

The man named the Hound did not reply.

Bronn inched closer to Johanna. "Come back with me now." he hissed to her. "I'll take you home-"

"Take her home?" the Hound barked suddenly. "Doesn't look like a whore to me."

"I am no _whore_!" Johanna shouted, her anger making her forget her fear of this enormous, burned man.

"Yes, we know, now come on with me." Bronn kept his voice carefully measured, going to take her arm.

"Don't you touch me!" Johanna yelled, jerking away from him. "Don't you _ever_ presume to touch me!"

The man named the Hound made a small noise. Suddenly-he turned straight towards her. His eyes narrowed. "We've met." His words hung in the air. It wasn't quite a question. Johanna had no answer as she looked back at him.

Bronn's eyes widened in fear. "Trust me, you haven't."

"No." The Hound took a step closer to Johanna, frowning. He seemed to drink her in, his eyes darting from the gold of her hair to the shape of her face. "This is a Lannister." he said. "Seen enough of them in my day to know a fucking Lannister when I see one."

"Course she's not." said Bronn, his voice becoming openly concerned. "Come on, Johanna, we need to go now."

" _Johanna_. That's a Lannister name if I ever heard one." The Hound took another step towards her. Johanna found that she did not step back. She gazed up at him. Here was the single most interesting man she had ever laid eyes on-there was literally no one she had ever seen who could even come close to the _manner_ of this man. The way he held himself, the way he frowned so carelessly…he was everything a warrior should be. "Who is your father, Lannister girl?" he put to her.

"No one-" Bronn began.

"Ser Jaime Lannister." Johanna said, clearly. She narrowed her eyes as he narrowed his, drawing herself to full height.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake…" Bronn moaned. "Couldn't you keep your mouth _shut_?"

But the Hound had already given a bark-like laugh. " _Jaime Lannister_? Shit, how many little bastards like you did that fucker sire?"

"Come _on,"_ Bronn was beginning to sound desperate. "I'm taking you home, and that is final. Get back here _now_."

"And who put you in charge of her?" the Hound said, not taking his eyes away from Johanna, who stared straight back at him. She tried to stare him down, as a warrior should to an adversary-and he surely was the _ultimate_ adversary-but his last comment had flustered her. What did he mean, _bastards_?

"I did." said Bronn, firmly. "Goodbye, Ser Sandor. Seven blessings-"

"Seven fucking blessings my arse." The Hound said, raising his voice. "Where are you taking her? Her uncle in the capital would pay through the nose for her, wouldn't he? Shame her bitch mother is dead-imagine the gold Cersei would have parted with to see her precious princess home safely…"

Cold fingers closed themselves around Johanna's heart. "My-my _mother_?" she choked.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about, Johanna." Bronn sounded as though he wished himself dead rather than here. But still-he stood his ground. "I know what you're getting at, Clegane, and that is not going to happen. Not in a million years."

The Hound laughed again. It was a horrible sound, seeming to echo off the streets. "Are you going to try and stop me?" He looked back at Johanna, his eyes suddenly bright. "What do you think the imp will give me for you, Lannister girl? His weight in gold?"

The _capital_? This man, the man named the Hound, was going to take her to _Kings Landing_?

"Alright-" Bronn gave Johanna a strangled look. But still-he drew his sword. "Seven hells, I knew a Lannister was going to be the fucking death of me one day."

…

Five minutes later, Johanna found herself being lifted onto a large, black horse. In front of her, the man named the Hound climbed up and settled himself into place. Johanna dared not hold onto him-but as he smacked the horse and it charged off into the night, she grabbed onto his waist for dear life. The wind blew her plait behind her, finally drying it-but she was so cold and tired that she could hardly think. There were only two things she could force her mind to focus on. One-that she was finally on her way to Kings Landing, even with this enormous, frightening stranger-she was on her way. And second-that she had more questions than ever before.


End file.
